


Tag

by AdamantSteve



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Blowjobs, M/M, Motel, Possessive Behaviour, kind of, tagging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-02
Updated: 2013-12-02
Packaged: 2018-01-03 06:58:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1067430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdamantSteve/pseuds/AdamantSteve
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint's about to graduate to level one agent status at SHIELD. It's Phil's job to place Clint's tracking tag (which all agents get when they reach level one). So he does. And then Clint runs. But he doesn't run far.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tag

**Author's Note:**

> I POSTED THIS BEFORE and then I deleted it but now I'm posting it again! Sorry for any confusion.   
> I posted a fic a while back called 'Tagged', except I left it in my WIP folder accidentally and then the other night I finished it and reposted it without realising. I was alerted to my error and deleted both in embarrassment.   
> This is the finished version of the fic that was originally called 'Tagged' which I have since deleted.  
> Beta read by Dunicha.

"Are you aware of what you have scheduled next Friday, Barton?" Phil asked, feigning boredom as he shuffled some papers around on his desk, desperately trying to not make this a thing, even if he'd pulled Clint out of the range to talk to him.

 

"No," was all he replied. Phil didn't know if he was bullshitting or not. Clint liked to make a great show of not giving a shit, but more often than not he'd point things out from obscure pieces of paperwork or handbooks that Phil had forgotten he'd given him, so it was anyone's guess. 

 

"You've been with us almost a year now, passed every test we've thrown at you. You're one of the best we've ever had. Your probationary period is almost over, which means you're ready to become a fully-fledged level one agent, and I'd estimate that you'll rise to level three within another year." 

 

Clint folded his arms and nodded his head, and Phil suspected he was perfectly aware of what was happening the following Friday.

 

He reached into a drawer and pulled out a thin pellet, silver coloured but soft, halfway between a pill and a bullet, leaning over the desk to place it in front of Clint, who just looked at it.

 

"This is a SHIELD locating device. It can track an agent via satellite, act as a distress beacon and can monitor heart rates and a couple other bodily functions remotely. It's made with a special alloy thats non-reactive and doesn't show up on any x-rays or other kind of scans."

 

Clint's eyes flicked from the pellet to Phil's face and if he saw a hint of trepidation behind his guarded eyes, he didn't mention it. 

 

"So?" 

 

"So every SHIELD agent has one of these implanted inside them, and you're scheduled to have yours fitted on Friday. It's a pretty minor procedure and will only take five minutes at most. I just wanted to let you know since you didn't open any of the emails I sent you about it. I'm sure the other Juniors have talked about it but I wanted to give you the chance to ask me any questions you might have." 

 

Clint's nostrils flared and he shook his head no. He had no questions. Phil wasn't especially surprised. Clint stood, his fingers flexing. "Is that all, sir?" Phil nodded his head once and Clint left.

 

-

 

The cool metal walls of the air vent felt soothing under Clint's palms. He laid down flat and rested his forehead on the dusty bottom of the vent and tried to breathe normally. He'd known this was coming up. Knew the exact date, time and place. He'd seen freshly minted Level Ones peeling their bandaids off and checking the tiny cut where theirs had been put in. He knew it was coming from the first day he'd been there. The tag. The mark. The tracker. 

 

And part of him wanted it. That was what freaked Clint out the most: he actually kind of liked the idea of committing himself to the place, letting these people come find him like they promised they would. Closing the door on ever being lost again. 

 

It was weird that Clint enjoyed being a part of something larger than himself and having people around him that genuinely seemed to care about his well being. It felt like a weakness that he'd become so used to being around people that didn't ask anything from him, really. People that helped him and didn't seem to expect anything much in return. People like Phil.

 

Clint hadn't ever belonged anywhere, really. Not to the point where they'd chase after him if he ran away. It was comfortable, and that freaked him out when he thought about it too hard. He'd made friends cautiously and put down the tiniest of roots. All tentative but there all the same. 

 

But if he fucked up... they'd come looking for him, and not with fists or anger but guns and mouths set in thin, stern lines. He pictured Phil's face like that, shut down and cold, and it terrified him. 

 

The metal had warmed to the temperature of his skin where he touched it by the time his breathing had evened out, and he slid noiselessly back out of the vent, dusted himself off and went to his quarters.

 

-

 

Phil half expected Clint to run after their little chat, so was more than a little surprised when he showed up on time. He looked nervous and pale as he took his usual seat facing Phil's desk, where the minimal equipment was laid out on a metal tray. Phil took his jacket off before rolling up his sleeves and pulling a pair of translucent surgical gloves on. "Sure you're ready for this?" 

 

Clint took a deep breath and seemed to centre himself, grinning cockily back at Phil with the exhale. "You've seen me take a bullet. I'm pretty sure I can handle your little pinprick." 

 

That was Clint alright. Covering up a multitude of regular-people emotional responses with sass. He decided to play along, picking up the thick syringe-like device that held the tracker and brandishing it. "It's not that little." 

 

"Easy. Shouldn't you at least buy me dinner before you try and stick something in me?"

 

Phil rolled his eyes with a small smile and got back to business. "It needs to go somewhere near a major artery but it's up to you where. Wrist, neck, upper arm. Have you thought about where you’d like it?"

 

"Oh jeez I don't know Coulson, just put it wherever alright?" 

 

"Can you take off your shirt please," he said as disinterestedly as possible. Phil would be lying if he said he hadn't thought about this day for a while. The knowledge that Clint finally felt safe enough with SHIELD to trust him - and he knew Clint wouldn't let just any senior agent to do this - thrilled him, but even if he was immensely proud of how far Clint had come, it wasn't just professional pride. This meant Clint would, at least partly, be connected with SHIELD, and by extension him, forever. 

 

And anyway, here he was, looking up at him with those eyes which surely had to see it for what it was, trepidation hidden behind bravado like a kid in a school yard. 

 

"Arm?" Phil asked, unwrapping an alcohol wipe. A shrug was his only answer. The invisible hairs on Clint's skin stood in the cold left behind by the alcohol and Phil felt Clint's eyes boring into him as he made the tiniest cut in his beautiful skin. A single drop of blood formed at the cut and Phil resisted the urge to touch it. Next came the syringe, the thin little pellet disappearing as soon as it left the needle, hidden away inside Clint's fat and muscle and sinew, a part of him forever. A little piece of Phil inside Clint.

 

He wiped the tiny drop of blood away and put a single butterfly stitch over the cut before covering that with a bandaid, which he smoothed down with his thumbs tenderly. They stayed still for a long moment, Phil's hands on Clint's arm, staring at it with Clint staring at him. The world distilled into Phil's thumbs and the colour of the bandaid compared to Clint's skin, a mess of different skin tones and textures, and the heavy feeling of a pregnant moment ripe with possibility. 

 

It was too long. The moment was so drawn out it couldn't pass without comment now. "Clint," Phil started, not sure where he would go with it, flicking his eyes up to look. Clint looked shocked, but somehow softer too, the furrow ever present on his forehead gone and mouth slack. No snappy line to round out the whole thing and put them back how they usually were. He started to take a breath to speak but then someone knocked on the door, and the moment shattered.

 

Phil wavered and looked away, letting go of the arm he'd been holding onto. "Come in."

 

Nick Fury opened the door and looked over them in that way he had. Taking it all in and then smirking like he was picking up on something no one else was. If Phil hadn't known him since basic training and knew that half the time it was bullshit he'd have felt unnerved.

 

"You're all done," he said to Clint, turning to the tray to dump things noisily onto it. Phil heard Clint pass as Nick approached him, putting a stack of papers on the desk, as if any other agent in the entire organisation couldn't have brought them there instead of the director. 

 

"Are you giving him a head start?" 

"I don't know what you mean, director," Phil replied. 

"Right."

 

-

 

Clint had the bag already half packed in the closet; it had been there for months since the last time he'd run, coming back not three hours later. It had been steadily unpacked since then when he'd run out of clean socks and underwear, but now he was stuffing things into it haphazardly and going through all his hiding places for money, keys, wallets, knives.

 

He left via vent, bypassing security cams and was in the city streets in no time. He could find a cheap hotel, cut that thing out and be gone. SHIELD were good but not that good, and if the worst came to the worst he'd made enough friends in previous lives that he could do something else. He could make a new life, on his own again. That was all he really needed. He had gotten himself that far. 

 

He checked in to a Holiday Inn on the way to the airport, rushing to the bathroom to tear off the bandaid and poke at the tiny cut. He had a knife out of his bag and was sterilising it in the heat of a lighter when the door to the room swung open.

 

-

 

It didn't take much effort to find him, which was a little disconcerting. Phil held his empty hands up to show he was unarmed before opening his jacket to show his shoulder holster empty too. Clint looked at the knife in his own hand and then dropped his arm.

"This seems rather token, if I'm honest."

Clint huffed a rueful laugh. "Had to see how long you took."

"I can disable it," Phil said quickly, and as he said it he knew he was revealing too much. Clint looked at him sharply. 

"What?"

"If you really want to leave I can disable it. The tracker." 

 

Phil moved out of the way for Clint to come out of the bathroom and throw the knife into his bag on the bed. "You can do that?"

He shrugged. "I'm not supposed to."

 

Clint frowned. "Why?"

Phil should have said something like 'because you're a headache', or 'SHIELD doesn't have the time or the resources to chase rogue agents down', but he didn't. He just shrugged again. 

 

For his part, Clint snorted. "You sweet on me or something, boss?"

 

Phil knew as he did it how telling it was, the way he looked away. Guilt, it screamed. He was  about to shake his head and deny it, say sorry and leave. Something. But he never got the chance - he opened his mouth and Clint was there all of a sudden, pressed up right into his space til his back was pressed against the wall and they were kissing. 

 

And yes, Phil thought, this is just how I imagined it. 

 

Clint’s arms were just as smooth and solid as any other time Phil had touched them, but now that they were moving so resolutely against him they seemed to be more, somehow. Realer. And his waist was just as thick and hard as Phil had known it to be, the shape of his ass the most perfect curve. “Clint,” Phil gasped, tipping his head to give him just the space he needed to suck and lick and bite, like he was trying to mark Phil just the way Phil had marked him.

 

“Knew you wanted me,” Clint said, kissing his way along Phil’s jaw and sliding his hands down the back of Phil’s pants. He didn’t need to do much more than press himself against Phil’s body to see just how much Phil wanted him, but Phil pressed back just to make sure. Because somehow he needed Clint to know exactly how much it was him, not SHIELD, that wanted him, that was terrified at the thought of losing him to the wind. 

 

“Please don’t leave,” Phil said, because his mind and his mouth were uncontrollably connected, and both of them traitors. “Or. Or if you do, tell me where you go.” 

 

Clint didn’t answer, though the way he pulled Phil against him and shut him up with a kiss kind of felt like one. 

 

And after that, Phil couldn’t be sure if it was the way his own legs gave out or the weight of Clint’s hand on his shoulder that had him sliding to the floor, but then Clint’s cock was in his mouth and he was sucking it like there wasn’t anything else he could ever dream of doing. Clint ran his fingers through Phil’s hair, and it wasn’t very long before he was pushing Phil back and coming, striping cum across Phil’s cheek and along his chin. Everywhere.

 

“Sorry,” Clint said in a small voice, raspy and breathless. He slid a finger through the mess on Phil’s face, making him even dirtier, and didn’t seem sorry at all. 

 

Phil shook his head as best he could with Clint’s fingers holding him where he was. “It’s fine. I don’t mind.” 

“But your suit.” 

 

“I don’t care about my suit.” 

 

-

 

Clint let go of Phil eventually, after fingerpainting Phil’s face as if in a trance. It seemed appropriate somehow, a marking in kind for the tag inside him. Phil pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and began to wipe at the mess on his face before Clint pulled him up and kissed him again, and Phil happily allowed it, because a wall had come down and he was determined to run through the rubble.

 

Phil was hard between them, painfully so, and Clint slid his hand over Phil’s ass to pull him so close his erection ground against his thigh.

“Can I take you out to dinner?” 

Clint snorted, startled out of trying to make Phil come in his pants. “Right now?

 

Phil shrugged in Clint’s arms - he wasn’t sure why that slipped out of him the way that it did. Sure, he’d thought about dating Clint - wining and dining him, the whole thing, but this was... hell he had no idea what this was. Clint pulled away and looked Phil up and down. Yeah right, Phil expected him to say, or perhaps he’d just laugh. 

 

“Let me suck your cock and then we’ll go out to dinner.” 

That was rather backwards, Phil thought to himself, gasping as Clint tugged him into the main room and sat him on the edge of the bed. He started to kneel but Phil stopped him, pulling him up and onto the bed as he crawled backwards. 

 

Clint caught on, ranging over Phil before ducking down to nip at his lips. Phil pulled at him, wanting to feel his weight pressing him into the bed but Clint dodged and slipped out of his grasp with a grin. A minute ago he was trying to run and now he was teasing Phil with a smile on his face. “Clint,” Phil grumbled, making a last effort to grab at him before he managed to slide down the bed to press his mouth against the ridge of Phil’s cock through his pants. Clint stuck out his tongue and licked the fabric of Phil’s fly, looking up at him as he did so. Phil’s toes curled. He slid his hand over the side of Clint’s face and looked at him speechlessly, no words for any of it. 

 

“I thought about this,” Clint said, balancing on his elbows as he unbuckled Phil’s belt. “All the times you asked me to do something - asked, never told. You’re always asking so nicely - I imagined you asking me to do this. Thought about you in your office asking me to suck you off.” 

He licked his lips at the sight of Phil’s cock springing free and grinned. Phil still couldn’t say anything. 

 

Clint stroked Phil a little, holding onto his cock and pressing tiny kisses up one side. “Ask me?” 

 

He was looking up, mouth half open and inches from the tip of Phil’s dick. “Ask me, Phil.” 

“Please,” Phil replied, voice husky and quiet. “Please suck my cock, Clint.” 

 

There was the shadow of a grin before Clint opened his mouth to take him, and then Phil couldn’t see anymore because he’d screwed his eyes shut. He probably didn’t even last a minute as turned on as he was, and came moments after Clint threaded their fingers together and held Phil’s hand to the back of his head, a wordless invitation to move him as he pleased. 

 

The last thing Phil managed to take in before his vision shorted out was Clint’s eyes glittering up at him, prouder than he’d ever seen them on the range or after a mission. Filled with accomplishment and self-satisfaction.  

 

When Phil touched down on earth once more, Clint had moved up the bed to lay next to him, licking his lips and watching him. 

 

Clint reached over to smooth down Phil’s hair. “Where do you wanna go for dinner?” 

 

 


End file.
